Morning
by Milk and Glass
Summary: A brief look at what draws Callie to Erica finally. One-shot.


"I don't make friends easily," she'd said, and her blonde hair fell down across her blushing cheeks; the blue eyes wouldn't me

"I don't make friends easily," she'd said, and her blonde hair fell down across her blushing cheeks; the blue eyes wouldn't meet yours. She's so tough, Erica; she's so gruff and brusque, but she feels the same as anyone else. She feels and maybe it hurts a little more, because she can't talk about her feelings like everyone else does.

You knew nothing about her when you met her and if someone asked you now, you'd still give the same answers. German-born. Heart surgeon. One of the best in her field. Rough exterior – amazing talent. And beautiful. You can't deny that behind the tough expression and pursed lips, she's beautiful.

It's hard to see the beauty, though. She's plain to look at when she's dressed in scrubs and a jauntily-coloured cap that totally contradicts her actual personality in the OR. But then she'll smile, or the light will catch her blue eyes suddenly, and you'll notice anew the way that your heart quickens when she tosses you a look that could only be described as smouldering.

When she cleans up, well, that's when you realize that she's more than a woman trying her best to keep up with the patriarchal Old Boy surgical society. You never felt it as much as she did, but then again, you're not a heart surgeon. Her hair curls softly on her shoulders; her eyes are rimmed with silver – they glow in the light of the bar, her tongue sticks out a tiny bit as she aims for the dartboard and never fails to miss a shot, every single time.

It seems a woman like this could never end up breaking down or caring. But you kiss her; she does it on a dare, but there's more of a hunger there that you knew was behind the façade but never made its way to the surface, not completely. And then you turned away from her – you turned away, and went to Mark Sloan, and she pretended not to care while watching you in the hallways. You, cruelly, made sure that she saw every bit of your forced affection. Mark knew, you think, that he was being used, but like the manwhore he is, he didn't care. It was enough to have the sex from a beautiful woman.

Erica cared, though. You lie on the on-call room bed and close your eyes tiredly; doing surgery after pulling an all-nighter is never a good thing. Mark is good in bed, but you're really getting too old to stay up all night fucking. It's close to morning, now. It's your own fault, though, and that's the exact look on Erica's face as she comes in.

You can feel the bed sink as she sits on the end – gingerly; so afraid to give all of herself to anything. And then she begins to speak.

"I don't make friends easily. But I made friends with you. I don't know what you thought was going on between us, but I've opened up more to you than anyone else. I thought we had something more, I guess. Stupid, huh?" Her derisive laughter holds a note of slight desperation, and you lock your brown eyes with her ice-blue ones.

"I'm gonna come right out and say it. Because you're my friend – I think – I don't see the reason not to be honest. I think you're gorgeous. But not only that – I think you're better than what you're doing to me right now. You're trying to win some game that you think I locked you into when I was just being honest."

She pauses, uncharacteristically twists her hands, looks up and pins you with that blue gaze that says so much more than her clipped words can. "Honesty's hard for me, Callie."

Without thinking, you put out a finger – stroke the side of her cheek, which is soft and wet from a stray tear that she's let fall. You pull her into your arms; feel her curves and the fact that she's not a thin woman and neither are you – you're real women, and this is real – settle against you. And she sighs against you, tips up her face to look at you upside down with that frank gaze.

Your lips capture hers in a soft, reassuring kiss, and you suddenly feel like such an idiot, trying to scare away something that's so right.

She leans against you, sighs again. "I don't make friends easily," she reiterates, her voice a little foggy. You hold her closer.

"I don't make friends easily either, _mija_," you reply.

She turns her face into your shoulder then and when you break apart, it's morning.


End file.
